“Trade Winds” Column

The Saturday Review – Mar. 23, 1946

By: Bennett Cerf

Samuel Grafton and I bustled down to the Paramount Theatre to catch one of the early morning appearances of Danny Kaye near the end of his spectacular three-week run there. His wife, Sylvia (who writes many of his best songs), had told us of the pandemonium that prevailed, and we wanted to see for ourselves.

The first twenty rows of the theatre were occupied solidly by bobby soxers who came at the crack of dawn, brought their lunches with them, and stayed straight through to closing time. When Kaye came out on the stage they roused from their slumber and began squealing with ecstasy. A dozen ran to the apron of the stage and handed him their wrist watches, rings, sandwiches, apples on a stick, and miscellaneous trinkets, all of which he accepted gravely. (He spent the time between shows persuading donors of the more valuable gifts to take back their loot.) When some heckler yelled, “Aw, go back to Brooklyn where you belong.” Danny had only to say, “Girls, take care of that palooka.” The heckler was all but rent limb from limb. When Danny’s hair got mussed, four girls rushed up with combs for him.

The amazing factor in Kaye’s rise to national fame is that it was accomplished by just two motion pictures: “Up in Arms” and “Wonder Man.” (His new one, “The Kid From Brooklyn,” will be released next month. It is riotously funny.) Before that Kaye had established himself as a great comedian on Broadway, but the country at large didn’t know him. Now he’s in for good. Not only is he a superlative performer, but his warm and friendly personality makes the kids feel he is one of them. The rigid time schedule of the Paramount was abandoned entirely during his stay. Scheduled for thirty-five minutes, his act often ran well over an hour, while he questioned the audience about their high school teachers, or sprawled on the stage and let those first twenty rows of youngsters (who, of course, knew his act backwards) do an entire number for him concert. One of the kids who besieged him for autographs at the stage door could not speak above a whisper; Danny lifted her into his car and took her to his own throat specialist to see if her voice could be restored.

All these faithful slaves, of course, slowed down the turnover, but Danny threatened the house records anyhow. Watching him keep those unruly kids completely in hand, and improvise masterly bits of clowning in the middle of his act, provided the great thrill one always gets from seeing a man who is tops in his profession go about his business. It was the thrill audiences get from a Fred Astaire, a Sonja Henie, a Lunt and Fontanne, or a Babe Ruth. There is no distance greater than that between the real headliner and the runner-ups!

In the middle of the performance we saw, Danny Kaye suddenly spied a six-year-old girl in the audience. He stopped short, descended to the orchestra floor, and carried the deliriously happy little girl to the loud speaker. “Say something to the audience,” commanded Danny. In a loud and confident voice, she said, “Huba huba.”

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